


fates latest casualty

by thebetterbina



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff, Gen, Not Beta Read, Time Travel, have time traveller percival, in a good way, it feels fluffy, so instead of the usual time traveller harry, who basically kidnaps harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:41:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25688251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebetterbina/pseuds/thebetterbina
Summary: The houses are neat, evenly spaced, coloured the same with neat gardens in front of each yard. Non-magical, he can tell. There’s no heavy saturation of magic in the air, as magical communities tended to have, nothing familiar to Percival.Well, except for one house.He can tell it’s warded, something strong, though it’s strange for him to see a warded house in the middle of such a plain neighbourhood.There’s also a boy.He’s young, can’t be older than eight but diligently pulling weeds from the garden. His hands are dirty, face scrunched up in concentration as he tugs at the earth. Black hair plastered to his forehead, glasses threatening to slip from his nose that shapes a painfully young face.Him. Please save him.Harry gets kidnapped to the past, it's a good thing.
Relationships: Original Percival Graves & Harry Potter, Original Percival Graves/Harry Potter
Comments: 7
Kudos: 307





	fates latest casualty

**Author's Note:**

> not beta'd 😔
> 
> i started getting into percival/harry fics and my god the food is delicious, in this au percy isnt director yet. maybe young auror? this fic feels platonic but i imagine it develops into romance that i might write later 
> 
> enjoy!

It begins with a case. 

Smugglers, dark artefacts illegally brought into America, most definitely with the intention of being sold. 

Percival has the persistence of a wolfhound so when he gives chase,  _ he gives chase _ .

What he doesn’t expect is this: a stray spell. 

Not directed at him, if it was then it was pretty poorly aimed one, but it hits one of the many objects in the warehouse—something glass. Breakable. He hears it burst and reflexively throws up a hand to block the shards, not enough to harm, therefore not enough to warrant a spell. 

What he doesn’t expect is this: sand. 

At least he thinks it’s sand, but it glitters, shimmers as it touches his body. Golden and gleaming and he finds himself mesmerised by it, whatever the item was it had blasted apart and basically covered Percival in small grains.

_ Please save him. _

He doesn’t know that voice. He can hear the shout of his partner calling his name, but even that begins to sound muffled. Muted, as if his head was suddenly underwater and everything was just white noise in the foreground. Dizziness follows, and the last thing Percival can remember is the ground rushing up to meet his face. That same unrecognizable voice repeating three words, like a siren call beckoning him.

_ Please save him. _

But save who?

* * *

When his eyes open again, he’s standing upright, in the middle of an unknown neighbourhood. He has take one step forward to make sure the ground beneath him is solid, his clothes are intact no longer coated in the same glittery substance, his wand is still in his hand and on the other—

It’s curious, small and round. Tiny, almost like a child’s toy. Percival is almost convinced if he squeezed the palm of his hand hard enough, the little item would break but he doesn’t. Instead he turns it around, watches the golden sand inside flow with each motion. The glass ball is light in his hand, and finding no curses or hexes stored in it, he pockets the item out of sheer curiosity and instead takes his time to absorb his surroundings.

The houses are neat, evenly spaced, coloured the same with neat gardens in front of each yard. Non-magical, he can tell. There’s no heavy saturation of magic in the air, as magical communities tended to have, nothing familiar to Percival. 

Well, except for one house. 

He can tell it’s warded, something strong, though it’s strange for him to see a warded house in the middle of such a plain neighbourhood.

There’s also a boy.

He’s young, can’t be older than eight but diligently pulling weeds from the garden. His hands are dirty, face scrunched up in concentration as he tugs at the earth. Black hair plastered to his forehead, glasses threatening to slip from his nose that shapes a painfully young face.

_ Him. Please save him. _

He hears that same voice speak to him, just as the little boy looks up. Eyes of brilliant green meet his, and there’s a look of surprise on the child’s face. 

_ “Boy!”  _

The child flinches, the booming yell coming from somewhere inside the house and continues with expletives.  _ “Boy! You better not be slacking off!” _

_ Quickly. Save him. _

The child seems to hesitate, unsure of what to do, Percival simply offers his hand. Extends it so his fingers just barely brush against the wards. The look of relief on the child’s face is something that will never escape his memory, he’s seen many expressions in his days of being an Auror—hatred, anger, jealously, begrudging respect and the occasional look of pity.

But this is different, as those tiny fingers slip into the palm of his hand, that small child looks up at him with all the wonder of someone having met their  _ saviour _ .

The glass ball in his pocket hums, glowing, and before Percival knows what to do next he’s awake to feel the familiar pull of a portkey dragging both their bodies through.

* * *

Harry Potter hears this. 

_ He’ll come for you soon. _

_ You’ll be saved. _

_ He’s here. Go to him. _

* * *

Somewhere in the middle of their journey he must have passed out again, because this time he wakes up on a bed, facing white sterile walls. Strangely he doesn’t feel sore, there’s the odd tickle of exhaustion but nothing a night of dreamless sleep won’t heal. There’s also a strange lump by his side and he looks under the covers to see a mess of black hair stuck to him, sound asleep, the little child breathing slowly through his mouth.

“He was quiet as an angel the whole time, but started crying as soon as we told him he needed to go somewhere else.”

He notices the nurse, who has a bright smile on her face. Percival’s throat feels raw when he even attempts to speak, “How is he?”

“He put up quite a fight, but the healers managed to check him.” She frowns, “Most definitely magical, poor thing went through awful abuse. It’s a good thing you found him in that warehouse.”

“Warehouse?”

The nurse looks understanding, gentle smile on her face as she offers water, “You were working a case right before being attacked. It was in a warehouse, and your partner managed to find you passed out right beside the little dear.”

* * *

Sometime later the boy does wake, embarrassed and flushed a brilliant shade of red, pushing himself off Percival to sit on a nearby chair. He’s dressed in clothes that fit him better, nothing like the oversized rags Percival had found him in.

“What’s your name?”

“Harry.” He replies shyly, averting gaze. 

“Well nice to meet you Harry, I’m Percival.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm active [on my Twitter](https://twitter.com/therealconnor60)! (´,,•ω•,,)♡
> 
> i also have a [discord server here](https://discord.gg/yE8KQnt) so feel free to join and gimme a screm *wink wonk*


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